Found in Translation
by yourpainfulnightmare
Summary: Rory can understand all languages in the universe. Why can't he seem to find the right words?


Rory Williams loved his wife.  
But lately, he'd come to find himself in love with the Doctor.  
It was something in the way he moved, always chattering on about arbitrary matters, energetically throwing switches or pushing buttons.

Rory couldn't figure it out. What exactly

_was_ it about the Doctor that fascinated him?  
"What's on your mind, Rory?" The Doctor asked, pulling the married man from his thoughts.  
He turned to look at the Doctor, his mouth opening to release a lie.  
"You," he blurted, his mind frantically racing to find a plausible way to recover. Instead, his mind failed him, leaving his mouth agape.  
"Well, thank you, Rory Williams. I

_am_ quite a thought, I suppose." The Doctor said more for himself, than for Rory.

That feeling in the pit of his stomach, one he couldn't figure out, but he

_knew_ it was connected with the Doctor. It made his insides tangle up, making him

_swear_ they weren't working properly.

"Rory?" The Doctor once again asked, this time worry betraying his face. "Are you alright?"  
Rory decided he needed to understand this feeling of the Doctor. "No," he felt the words sliding from his heart, across his tongue, and into the air. "I really don't think so."  
The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver, giving it a flip as he did so.  
"Let's give it a look, then."

The screwdriver gave off a familiar buzz as he ran it up and down the length of the body.  
"I'm not seeing anything, perhaps..." The Doctor began to ramble on, naming diseases and places and parasites that could cause discomfort and side effects of various organs doing various odd things.

"You didn't drink the water on the last planet, did you? I think there were Tyronian bacteria in there. Or was it Yolkian?" The Doctor muttered, flipping through the settings on the screwdriver. The high whine it now gave off was going to drive one of the men insane, and it would not have been the Doctor.

"Doctor!" Rory shouted, causing the Doctor to jump and drop his screwdriver onto the control room floor of the TARDIS.  
He looked up the human with a quizzical look in his eyes.

"Doctor, it's not that kind of not being well. It's...different." He sighed, regretting the decisions of the last few minutes.  
"Different how?" The Doctor inquired, picking up the screwdriver.  
Rory couldn't answer, his tongue refused to move, to shape the words he needed. He couldn't stop staring at the Doctor's body, how it sculpted itself so beautifully, so

_perfectly_ in such an unimportant action such as picking up a screwdriver.

_Nothing is unimportant or ugly._ he heard the Doctor's voice in his head.

_Every movement is a change in time and space, making it the most important and beautiful moment for that moment and all the eternity after._

"What kind is it, then?" The Doctor asked, having retrieved his screwdriver.  
Rory said nothing, as there were no words to describe this feeling. No language from any planet or any time had the right words for it. It could only be shown.

_You can't simply expect to be __**described**__ the universe. You have to __**live it.**__ So try this, Amy. It's the best sushi in the universe. Promise._

"I can't describe it, Doctor." Rory whispered, as he pulled the Doctor in. Their lips met and he knew that

_this_ was not unimportant or ugly. It was stunning and beautiful.  
And it was their moment.  
"I need you, Doctor."

The Doctor had known about needing people far better than everyone else. He needed companions to travel with, to hear his brilliant speeches. He had once needed Rose. (He still did, but she didn't need

_him_ anymore. She needed her Doctor, he realized as he was recovering from heartbreaks.)

The Doctor ran his hands down Rory's spine, feeling every vertebrae, every curve.  
Rory shuddered, but didn't pull away. He kissed harder, pushing himself into the Doctor.  
He began to undo the the cherished bowtie, expecting to be stopped by the Doctor. He was met with no resistance.

He started unbuttoning the Doctor's shirt, and felt his own being loosened as well. When he shrugged it off, he found himself looking into the eyes of the Doctor, seeing the love and pain thereof of nine hundred years.  
There was enough to fill volumes of books, enough for a library of fantastic and painful tales with humans and creatures otherwise.  
But he realized there weren't words for the Doctor's experiences.

_Even the TARDIS can't translate the language of Gallifrey. There's no way to. The complexities of it are just far too great for a human to understand. No, no. You're not unintelligent by any means. You're brilliant in fact! But every curve, every circle is a magnum opus. Can you fully put into words the statue of David? Did Davinci write novels about what was in his mind? It's the same here. Not one parabolic curve in this can be translated._

Rory felt the tears sliding down his cheek, hot and wet. There just weren't words for anything inside of him. No language could translate the tangled feelings he had. But the trembling did. It said everything he had tried so hard to formulate into sentences.  
He didn't want to become one more intimate moment the Doctor shared with pain, or regret.

The Doctor understood every language in the universe, including the muffled sobs from Rory.  
He hugged the man, allowing his flesh to warm Rory's chest.  
His hearts were all Rory could focus on, the rhythm expressing comfort.  
He had found what he needed. Language between him and the Doctor.


End file.
